


Hungry Work

by KaelsMiscellany



Series: The Road of Excess [1]
Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Ghosts, Historical, Liberties taken with almost everything, The Year Without A Summer, techincally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 04:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8651221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/pseuds/KaelsMiscellany
Summary: In 1815 a stranger came to Bethel, Texas; and a few months later married the preacher’s daughter.In 1816 he faced the firing squad for killing a murderer; and in that long winter his brother comes to town.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So my first foray into FDTD and I decide to do a kinda strange AU... ~~then again, AUs seem to be my 'thing'~~
> 
> Title comes from "Take Me to Church" by Hozier, and the series name comes from the poem "Proverbs of Hell" by William Blake.
> 
> And like the tag said, I've taken liberty with a lot of things (like the fact that Texas wasn't really affected by 1816's weather...), so if something's not quite how it is in the show it's on purpose.
> 
> As a bit of a warning Kate has some very period typical thoughts re: Christianity and Western Civilization being The Best, they're not overt, but they're there. (This was still the age of Colonialism after all, and if there's one thing us white people are good at it's lying to ourselves about how great Colonialism is).

It didn’t matter that he’d done the town good, or that Professor Tanner’d clearly been a man who needed killing. A week after the deed they’d put her husband in front of the guns and shot him dead; she’d made herself watch, for all that she hated it.

Kate knows why they killed him even if Tanner’d been a man more guilty than her Richie. He was still a stranger, and with two men dead it meant two less mouths to feed with their rapidly dwindling food.

They’d buried him in the cemetery at least, iron railroad spike through his heart—to keep him from coming back.

Not that that’s stopped him, or at least part of him.

 _“Katie,”_ his voice whispers on the breeze as she pulls her cloak more firmly about her, barely paying attention to the vaqueros calling to her from the saloon—food might be running out, but the drinks are still apparently endless—as she makes her way back home. The ghost of Richie watches over her as she goes, her meager allotment of food clutched tightly to her chest.

It’s September now and a few of the men are talking about riding over to San Antonio to get more food. Others insisting they just kill and eat all the horses, what with all the unrest going on—considering as Americans they could be run out. Kate isn’t sure she’d mind either way, so long as her belly would stop growling.

She sees him better when she enters their tiny house, him in his nice suit and not even the bullet holes that killed him to see. A fact she appreciates; it’s hard enough to let him go when he follows after her all hours of the day and night. In the kitchen she puts the food behind the stove, there’ve been reports of someone breaking into houses to steal food and better to err on the side of caution.

Richie chuckles. _“Clever woman,”_ a blush steals across her cheeks, stark against her mourning dress.

“When will you leave?” She doesn’t demand it anymore. It’s both a blessing and a curse that he’s lingered. A blessing because she loves him and had done all she could to stop his death, during what they’d laughably called summer. A curse because she cannot let him go as she should. The townsfolk, and her own family, are beginning to give her strange looks. She fears if it keeps up they’ll run her out of town, no matter how unchristian it would be. She wouldn’t last long out there in the wild.

Richie flickers, as if his mind is preoccupied. Above him the cameo paintings her father had done for their wedding flicker too, their expressions seeming to grow monstrous. _“In this way? Soon enough.”_ There’s a chill about him, one she feels even more fiercely than the cold outside when he’s right next to her. _“But even then I won’t leave you.”_ The words send a different sort of chill through her.

“What do you mean?” Her belly rumbles and her gaze falls on the bag of food. She mustn’t though, who knows when the next time there’ll be food for her.

Something like a smile crosses his face, a death’s head grin. _“My brother’s coming to town, soon. He’ll need your help.”_

“Help? With what?” But her husband’s gone, leaving her alone once more.

-

Kate should have taken it off a long time ago, but the familiar weight of her wedding band is one she’s loathed to give up.

“Katherine,” the way her father says it paired with his dour expression is all she needs to know. Her thumb curls under her palm to rub at the scale pattern engraved in the gold. She knows what he wants, her to come back home, to perhaps sell her ring and the house, and who knows what else, so they have just a bit more money to buy food. Maybe even to remarry, although to whom is beyond her.

“Daddy,” she sighs back. It’s Friday dinner, even the meager months have yet to break them of the long-standing habit. The chair on her right feels empty without Richie to fill it. Physically at least. Right now his all-seeing eyes stare at her father, curious to know what he’ll say next. “You can’t make me leave the house.” She’s a widow now, free to do as she likes without as many whispers as before. He can’t even stop her from taking a lover should she choose.

He leans back in his chair, gnawing on a bone from the hare Scott’d managed to catch somehow. Her brother sits across from her, his face both foreign and familiar, ravaged by hunger as it’s been. “Dad’s right Kate, it’s not safe for you out there alone.”

The care is nice, it also grates. “I can protect myself.” Richie’d taught her to shoot; she won’t be killing any hares, but a man she might manage.

“Thank you for the meal daddy,” even if her belly’s still begging for food.

 _“Should’ve stocked up,”_ Richie looks unhappy with himself.  _“Could’ve at least made sure you’d have enough to get by.”_ Of course with company she can’t tell him that he couldn’t have known what would happen. Not this endless winter or his own death—part of her blames him for that, as much as she hates it.

“It’s always good to have you over Katie,” the hug he gives her comforts her more than his words ever could. “Scott’ll see you home.” From the sound of it Scott doesn’t have a choice.

Trudging through the snow—when she’d been a child it had been a rare and precious thing, now she hates it—the short distance between her own home and her family home feels like forever. “We’re only worried about you Kate. Town’s starting to say you’re talking to yourself.”

Drawing herself straight, not that it does much good with Scott being that much taller than her, she huffs. “Let them talk. Things’ll be different soon, winter can’t last forever.” That’s what the few papers they’ve gotten since the beginning of the year have said—not even the pony express and Wells Fargo’ve been running all that regular, harder to feed horses when you can’t even feed the riders and drivers.

“It can if we’re being punished.” Kate won’t let herself believe that, that God would be so cruel. But when He’d promised not to flood the world again He’d never said anything about not killing humanity again either.

Her door is a welcome sight. “Thank you for walking me home Scott.” In the lantern light she unlocks the door, listening. When she hears nothing she steps inside. “Good night.” Closing the door she locks it again and makes her way to her, their, her bedroom.

Even with him dead Richie still watches her with single minded focus as she undresses, as if it was the most fascinating thing on Earth. When she crawls into bed he does too, a laughable farce. She shivers at the cold of him, but also cannot tell him to leave.

Something rough and scaley presses against her cheek, once it had frightened her, now she only knows it’s a kiss, all that her dead husband can give. _“Tomorrow,”_ the excitement in his voice sends a low thrum through her, always like him to make her want things she should not. _“Keep a weather eye out, he’ll be here tomorrow.”_

“I don’t even know what he looks like.”

Richie’s laugh is a rattling of bones. _“Don’t worry, you’ll know. And he’ll know you too.”_

-

Because of Richie’s words last night Kate goes into town. She doesn’t have much in the way of errands to run, but certain that if she needs an excuse to linger in town she’ll find one.

The soaps she’d managed to make sell, but for not as much as she’d like—the chorus of this year. The money's something. It means she lets herself splurge and buy one of the tiny pots of honey still left in the general store. For safe keeping she hides it in her bodice, a fact Richie seems to find vastly amusing.

After the store she goes to the post office. There won’t be anything for her, or even much in the way of new news. But it’s a place to stay and gossip, even if it means dealing with some far too personal questions.

When she does leave the post office she finds the main street all a whisper. Eyes staring at the fine looking horse hitched at the saloon, ears and mouths turned towards each other as people begin telling stories.

Kate doesn’t need Richie to tell her that this is his brother.

Girding herself as best she can she steps towards the saloon, hoping speed will cover up any fear or nervousness at going in. Before she was married it had been forbidden to her for it’s lawless hedonism, after her marriage, well, Richie had brought enough hedonism into her life.

Inside is dim, even with flickering lamps hanging from every post and rafters. It’s noisy too, the cacophony of English and Spanish almost as frightening as the sight of so many men half and fully drunk. There are a few women as well, it’s easy to think them whores, Kate would have thought they would be more...scantily clad for that.

Her gaze darts about, even with Richie’s promise that she’d know his brother—quite the feat considering she’s never seen him before—there are far too many men here to work through. Especially with only half or so of the men’s faces in clear view from the door.

Now that she’s bearded the lion’s den she might as well commit. Taking a deep breath, full of sour booze and smoke, she makes her way to the bar proper. Perhaps she’ll go so far as to buy a portion of whatever the bartender’ll serve her. She’s never had liquor before, only communion wine.

 _“It’ll be like a kick in the teeth,”_ Richie cautions, in here he’s only a voice, coming for everywhere.

But perhaps what she needs is a kick in the teeth. With deftness that surprises even her she dodges out of the way of wandering hands, the men not seeming to realize she’s not one of the staff. She reaches the bar unscathed, looking up and down at the men seated there.

Most are hunched over their drinks, a whole different class from the men who’re seated at the tables playing cards and whatnot. Hats and glasses litter the wood of the bar, creating a new landscape in and of itself.

One hat in particular catches her attention.

It’s black, which doesn’t make it stand out all that much from its fellows. The rough snakeskin band on it does.

 _“Told you,”_  he doesn’t have to sound so smug about it.

Especially considering she hasn’t seen the owner of said hat. With a destination now in mind she makes her way over.

From the back the man looks much like everyone else, dusty travel coat—one that had once been black most likely—and tanned skin. Yet even from here she can see a strange black mark on his neck, the likes of which she’s never seen before. His hair is darker than Richie’s had been, but not by much.

“Mr., Mr. Gecko?” She curses the nervous hitch in her voice. Also the fact that Richie never told her his name.

He turns...his features speak nothing of his brother, yet the pull of him is unmistakable. Is it a trait of all Geckos, or just these brothers?

His brown eyes assess her. She manages not to squirm under his gaze. “You must be Katie.” Part of her wants to tell him he has no right in calling her that, but it has also been such a long time since a living voice called her by that nickname. “What’d Richie do this time?”

She blinks at him for a moment, surprised that he doesn’t know. Yet the saloon hardly seems the right place to speak of such things. “Perhaps we could go back to my home? We wouldn’t have to shout.”

“You got whiskey there?”

The question dumbfounds her for a few seconds before she shakes her head. He gives a sigh and turns away from her, at first she thinks her lack of whiskey has turned this whole thing—whatever it may be—off as it were. By some unseen signal the barkeep comes up and there’s a burst of low conversation she can’t quite comprehend.

A minute or so later Richie’s brother is turning back to her, a full bottle of whiskey in his hand. “If you don’t mind getting comfy like we can share my horse.” The offer catches her off guard, but she finds herself nodding. It’d be nice not to trudge through the snow. Reaching behind him he grabs his hat and shoves it on his head before making his way out of the saloon, she hurries after.

He climbs on first, managing to pull her up without help. An impressive feat which leaves her breathless. “Which way?”

“Up north past the church,” she answers. His horsemanship must be very good, he barely does anything to get the horse to turn and start an easy trot. “I must say you have me at a disadvantage, Richie never talked about you.”

A snort leaves him. “Name’s Seth, and well, Richie respects my privacy. For all the good it’s apparently done us.” She wants to ask more questions, but she can also almost feel the curious stares of her fellows, and the idea of them overhearing anything keeps her mouth closed better’n anything.

Not that Seth, he’s her brother-in-law still, minds.

She gives a few more brief directions and they’re soon at her home. Perhaps she should have stayed and made the place more presentable. Although she doubts the place really needs that much in the way of cleaning.

When she goes to unlock the door Seth stops her, motioning for quiet. The expression on his face is one of intent listening, and Kate’d never thought anyone could listen _that_ hard. He gives a little nod, his other hand relaxing from it’s grip on a gun—a flintlock like all the rest in town, or some fancy new model yet to make it’s way out?

Leading him into the kitchen she gets two glasses down, setting them on the table and stoking up the fire again before taking a seat. Seth removes his hat and takes the other. Wiggling the cork out his bottle and pouring a little in hers and a much bigger serving in his own—she can’t find it in her to be offended.

“So?” He tosses back half his drink and pours himself more. A curious habit, if indeed it was a habit and not some tradition she’s unaware of. “Something’s happened to Richie, otherwise I wouldn’t be out here.”

Even though there’s plenty of light from the windows and fire Kate finds herself reaching for the lantern, trimming the wick before lighting it. “He got himself killed, that’s what happened to him.” Now that she says those words she realizes that she hasn’t...heard from or seen Richie since the saloon, it’s the longest stretch he’s been ‘gone’ and she finds it disconcerting. “Few months back now.”

For a second Seth seems to fold up on himself, then he’s back to near perfect posture. “Damn it Richie.” She’s found one thing they have in common, cursing without care of who might be around to hear it. “Told you no heroics.” He manages to consume all the whiskey in his glass this time before refilling it. “How’d it happen?” The someone detached tone in which he asks it is off-putting, but she knows not everyone grieves in the same way.

“Killed another man, professor Tanner. Well no one right knows if he’d been a real professor or not, but that’s what he called himself; wasn’t quite right in the head, but everyone thought him harmless.”

“That’s the way it goes,” Seth responds with a snort. “You gonna drink that?” He gestures at her own untouched glass and she finds herself snatching it towards her. Mimicking him she downs it all on one go.

Only to start hacking and coughing at the burn. How could anyone drink that? Tasted almost as bad as the tanning pits she’d once smelled years ago.

Seth seems to find it amusing at least, she shoots him a glare. “Sorry Katie,” he holds up his hands as if in surrender. Reminding her that while he’s taken off his hat he’s still wearing the rest of his traveling clothes.

The reminder kicks her back into hostess mode. “Would you like a bath? Something to eat?” Having two people in the house again will strain her food, but it wouldn’t be right expecting him to find his own. “I can’t imagine how far you’ve traveled.” She’s lived here near all her life, only been as far out as the next town over; the thought of going even to San Antonio staggers her.

“Been in the Badlands, and a bath would be appreciated, thank you.”

With a deft nod she stands and grabs the large pail off it’s hook. “The tub’s in the other room, you’re welcome to leave it there or drag it here into the kitchen.” They’ve got time before enough water’s ready.

She doesn't wait for him to respond before braving the cold and scooping up as much snow as she can carry. Bringing it back in she she finds he’s brought the tub into the kitchen, and has lost his traveling jacket and gloves. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt and she finds herself staring at the markings drawn on his skin.

He notices right away, much to her embarrassment. “Never seen tattoos before?”

She shakes her head, putting the pail on the fire to start the snow melting and heating up she goes over to him, gaze intent on his bare forearms. When she reaches out to touch them she’s surprised to find they’re not at all like the paint she’s sometimes seen natives wearing; whatever’s made them seems embedded _into_ his skin. She can’t imagine it being a painless experience, yet the strange square-like symbols disappear up into his shirtsleeve, only to come out on his neck. “What are they?” Behind her she can hear the pail beginning to hiss, but pays it no mind.

“You ever hear of the Mexica?” She shakes her head, but he seems unsurprised. “They used to live down in Mexico proper long before the Spaniards came. Used to rule the whole place too, although not very nice. They’d do human sacrifice and all that.”

The idea makes her shudder, grateful the world has moved past such barbarities. “They’re still around, but scattered about.” He taps a few, the same ones she had in fact—which she finds makes her blush. “This is their written language, not that I could tell you what it all means.”

A frown crosses her face as she rights herself, finally going to check the pail. “Then why get them if you don’t know what they mean?” With the paint or ink or whatever it is _inside_ his skin it seems that you would want something you could understand. Then again she guesses you could pick something just because you liked the look of it; men did it often enough with wives.

“Didn’t have much of a choice.” He shrugs as if it does matter, but her curiosity’s piqued even more now. She knows full well how rude it is to pester someone with questions and so holds off.

Grabbing rags she picks up the pail and dumps the boiling water into the tub, going outside to repeat the process.

Only to blink in surprise when Seth takes the pail from her when she comes back in, “let me help. Feel like a heel letting you do everything.” She looks away, trying to fight the blush stealing across her cheeks.

“You’re my guest,” a faint protest at best. Hunger doesn’t make her feel weak anymore, but part of her _is_ grateful for the help.

“Ain’t your guest,” he says it almost gruffly as he sets the pail on the stovetop. “Family helps each other out, even when they hate each other.” The words catch her off guard for a moment, he’d said that Richie never spoke of him out of respect. Now his words paint a different picture, a feud between brothers? The thought of such an old tale affecting _her_ life amuses her.

To give herself something to do she gets out old cheese and hoarded bread. “What happened?” She shakes her head as she sets the food on the table next to his half empty bottle. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” Here she thought she’d be able to hold off on questions.

He gives a soft laugh as he tugs on his gloves again to pour out the boiling water, when he puts the refilled pail on the stove again he moves to stand next to her, stripping off his gloves and taking a piece of bread. “We were down in Mexico, running a nice cushy job with the silver mines. Richie got involved with a woman.” He shoots her an apologetic look, as if she would be offended by the idea of her husband being involved with someone else before their marriage—Kate might be inexperienced, but she she’s not _that_ naive. “It well...changed him,” he flexes his arm, making the symbols on it ripple. “Gave me these. We argued like family does and went our separate ways. Kept writing to each other, since our uncle made us swear on our momma’s grave to do it.

“Neither’ve us got good memories of her before she died. Swore anyways, since we didn’t exactly want her risin’ up to punish us if we forgot. That’s how I knew to come here, Richie stopped writing.” He breaks off some cheese, mashing it into the middle of the bread. “Now I got to save his stupid ass, pardon,” he tips an imaginary hat and she finds herself letting out a soft laugh. “Just like we’ve always done.”

Despite her laughter a frown crosses her face as she stands to go pour out the pail. “Richie’s dead.” Even if Richie’s a ghost, he’s still dead. Unless Seth meant saving in some other way. Perhaps he’s here to send Richie on.

Seth snorts as he takes the pail from her. “Ain’t ever stopped him before.”

-

Kate sits in it living room mending an old dress by the fire she’d started. With only a open doorway between them she can hear Seth in the tub, something about it enticing. Castigating herself for such thoughts she narrows her eyes and forces herself to focus solely on hemming.

 _“Wouldn’t blame you, I_ am _dead.”_

Her heart leaps into a hare’s pace and she cries out, jabbing her thumb all the while.

In the other room she can hear Seth pause in his cleaning—the smile he’d given when she’d given him something other than lye soap had also made her heart race. “You alright in there?”

Closing her eyes she takes a deep breath. “I’m fine Seth, just pricked my thumb.” She puts the offending digit in her mouth, hoping to staunch the blood flow before the dress is ruined even more. He goes back to washing and she can properly glare at her husband.

Who at least looks abashed, or as abashed as the dead can. _“Sorry, forgot you can’t hear me.”_

Pulling her thumb out she’s pleased to see the bleeding’s stopped, drying off the spit she resumes her work. “How can I hear you moving about if you’re dead Richie?” She speaks as loud as she dares, Seth after all doesn’t know about Richie’s ghost. “Worse’n a cat.”

The boyish grin he gives at that tugs at her heart. _“Some people can hear me,”_ but he waves it off as if it’s nothing important. _“I’m right Katie, so long as I’m dead won’t blame you. Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve shared.”_

The idea should appal her, two men sharing the same woman—perhaps even at the same time. It doesn’t, much to her shame. “Is that why you split apart this last time? Over that woman Seth mentioned?”

 _“No,”_ she can tell Richie’s right next to her by how cold she feels. _“Seth never did much like Kisa, at least not while we were together.”_ His frankness is appreciated. _“Like he said she changed me, in quite drastic ways. While I was relearning myself, I...changed him. He’s not like I am, but there’re lots of folks who could claim neither of us are human anymore. Then again momma always called us monsters when we were kids, it’s nothing new.”_

The casualness in which he says those words frightens her. Her own mother might have been absent—in her mind, if not physically—sometimes, but she and Scott had never doubted that she loved them. Yet to have a mother call her children monsters seems blasphemy of the highest order.

Richie snorts as if this idea amuses him—and the thought that he can somehow read her mind is less frightening than a lack of maternal love. _“Momma wasn’t much for Christian thoughts Katie. Her little village down in Mexico had a church, she and dad married there, but if momma was any proof it was more lip service than real belief.”_

Pagans still existing in the world is an alien idea to Kate, didn’t they fear for their immortal souls? Or fear the fires of Hell for worshiping false idols? “ _Can_ you read my thoughts?”

 _“Sometimes, when you’re thinking real loud.”_ She hadn’t realized one could think ‘loud’. In the kitchen she hears splashing and a soft curse as a chair clatters to the floor.

A trickster tilt changes Richie’s smile. _“Looks like Seth’s done cleaning up, I should go say hi.”_

With that he vanishes. Only for Seth to all but shout a few seconds later: “Jesus Christ Richard!”

Before she can help herself Kate lifts her dress up to bury her face in it, muffling her laughter.

-

Either Seth is a deep sleeper, she’s much quieter than she thinks she is, or he’s pretending. Whichever way he doesn’t stir from his makeshift bed by the banked fireplace.

Peering in on him while she waits for the coffee pot full of snow to melt for chicory, she glimpses another flash of tattoos. She’d seen the whole collection of them last night. Even with Richie’s ‘permission’ she’d felt guilty sneaking a peek of him—after she’d been certain he’d put his trousers on. They crawl up his whole arm, spreading over the back portion of his shoulder before creeping up his neck. At a distance they looked like _tigre_ spots. The Millers used to have the pelt of one that’d been hassling their cattle, charged a penny to see after they’d tanned the skin.

The sound of boiling tears her away. She tosses in the chicory as she nibbles on a slice of bread with just the smallest amount of the honey she’d bought yesterday. As she finishes her breakfast, such as it is, she pours herself a cup of chicory—Richie had bought her real coffee once, but these days even chicory is hard to come by—leaving the rest of the pot of the back of the stove to stay warm.

Finishing the warming drink she pulls on her nicer of her two coats, and leaves to go to church.

When she gets there it’s hard to miss the question in her daddy’s eye, but with the rest of his dwindling congregation to greet he doesn’t have the time to ask her it. She knows how she’ll answer.

The service is the same, as is the sermon—ever since Tanner daddy’s talking all sorts of variations on Jesus in the desert—usually they comfort, but she finds herself eager to return home. She’s sure Seth won’t wonder where she is with Richie to tell him. Before he’d died Richie’d always come to mass with her, even back when he was wooing her, but since his death he’s avoided the place. She wants to know more of their story, more about what Seth plans to do.

As she walks up for communion she finds herself castigating herself; greed for knowledge is just as sinful as greed for money or food, and she’d rather not fall victim to such easy temptations. She bites her tongue to keep from laughing, easy temptations? The other night her dead husband had all but told her to lie with his brother, what sort of temptation was that?

“Kate?”

Blinking she gives her head a small shake, realizing she’s at the front of the line now. She takes quickly, not wanting to worry her father more. Once she takes her seat in the pew again she finds herself counting the seconds, then gives herself a talking to for _that_. True God was everywhere, but one shouldn’t be eager to leave His holy place as if she were a sinner. She breathes slowly, making herself hold off on leaving until almost everyone has gone.

She ignores the strange looks the congregation gives her as she strides home. Huddling in on herself to keep warm.

There’s smoke pouring out the chimney. As she gets closer she sees the wood pile’s been restocked—a chore Scott’s been doing for her since Richie died, but it seems now Seth's taken it up—and when she steps inside she smells cooking _meat_.

Ignoring the stinging warmth she rushes into the kitchen. She sees Richie hovering by the table, and Seth standing in front of the stove, skillet in one hand and fork in the other. She gapes.

 _“Welcome home,”_ she finds she’s hardly bothered by Richie’s cold at the moment, still a tad shocked.

“What is that?” There’d been no signs of cannibalism with Tanner, but she isn’t going to blindly eat meat, no matter how much her belly might complain.

Seth flips the steak before turning. “Venison, thought’d be a nice sort of thank you…” he drifts off when she throws her arms around him. Squeezing her eyes closed as tightly as she’s squeezing her arms around him

His own arms wrap awkwardly around her own, one hand stroking down her hair. It’s nicer than she’d thought it would be.

She pulls away, aware of Richie’s ever-watchful gaze. “How’d you catch it?” She hasn’t had venison since last fall. Back when there’d still been feasts and there hadn’t been a need to scrimp and save every last scrap of food. She’s not even she if she _will_ be able to eat it, such rich fare after eating lightly for so long.

“Wasn’t much of anything really.” She’s seen men flush in anger, but she hadn’t realized that they could pinken with embarrassment also. “Always been a good hunter, better’n Richie at least.” A flash of a boyish smile speaks of a long standing argument.

 _“Hey.”_ Richie hardly sounds angry. _“You’re a better hunter_ here.” The way he says it implies that ‘here’ doesn’t just encompass Bethel, but what it means exactly escapes her.

Seth rolls his eyes before turning back around and fiddling with the venison some more. Soon enough he’s setting it on a plate and bringing it over. “Don’t know how good it’ll be,” again that gruff tone from yesterday. “More used to doing camp cooking.” Kate doesn’t care, it could be raw and she’d  still eat it.

He cuts it in half and Kate finds herself gracelessly falling upon her own. The first time she’ll have been able to eat her fill since January perhaps and she can’t hold herself back from the brief bout of gluttony.

After she swallows the first few bites whole she forces herself to slow down, unwilling to make herself sick. It hardly matters that there’re some bits of char and only the gamey flavor of the venison in her mouth; it’s the best thing she’s ever eaten.

-

That evening she trudges back to her father’s house next to the church, bracing herself for the barrage of questions her father and brother will give her.

Perhaps she should have brought some of the venison to smooth the way, but in the end she’d held off. Not wanting to try and explain how Seth could have killed it when everyone else’s only been able to find hares and coyotes since this endless winter began.

Which feels like an unkindness when dinner’s only gruel, she can’t exactly go back and change her mind. Now with venison waiting in the ice chest to be eaten she finds herself lackluster in eating what should be her real dinner.

If her father and brother notice she hopes they chalk it up to being so hungry she can’t even eat.

After the dishes are cleared her daddy and Scott turn to her and she feels like she’s been tricked into an inquisition. “Who’s that man everyone saw you ridin’ with yesterday Katherine?”

“Richie’s brother Seth,” she draws herself up straight. “He’s come to pay his respects.” In this house she won’t even let loose a whisper for the idea of ghosts and whatever it is Seth might have planned. That’s none of her family’s business.

“How’d you even know it’s his brother?” Scott bursts out. “Could be just some criminal wanting to steal your food.”

Her daddy shoots Scott a black look, not liking the question. She likes it even less. Does Scott think her so foolish, or in mourning, that she’d be taken in by anyone?

“He told me some of the same stories Richie had, from when they’re kids.” She hopes God forgives her the lie. “Acts like Richie’s brother should.” Let her family take that as they will.

Daddy clears his throat. “He say how long he’s staying?”

There’s a wealth of questions in that one, and only a handful of them good. “He hasn’t.” She stands, trying to keep her voice level. “Richie’s death left things such a mess at home that he’s been thinking about staying long enough to make them right, however long that’d be.”

The face her daddy makes is one she can’t quite parse. “Are you…”

When he drifts off, as if he can’t even finish the question she grips the back of her chair. “Am I what? Fornicating with him?” Across from her Scott’s ears flush at the word. Out of all the one she knows—a few weeks after their wedding Richie’d pinned her to the bed and whispered every single word and euphemism he knew for sex, it had been...exciting to say the least—it’s the one best to use in company as it were. “No I am not.” She bites her tongue against the ‘yet’ that wants to end that sentence.

She’s not sure if she should be asking for forgiveness for that or not.

“Goodnight daddy, Scott. I can make my own way home.” She doesn’t want either of them near her at the moment.

Neither of them try to follow as she pulls on her coat and marches out into the snow. Her anger spurs her into walking quickly, the strenuous action warming her body against the cold. A lantern’s been put in the window, a beacon of warmth and safety.

She doesn’t quite run to it, but it’s a near thing.

Inside she can feel her cheeks burning, cold and anger. She half expects to find Seth in the kitchen, he’s in the living room instead. Richie’s chair dragged to be right in front of the fire, the now mostly empty bottle of whiskey on the ground next to it. Seth’s slumped into it, half-full glass in one hand and another bottle in the other.

“I’m home,” although she’s certain he’d heard her come through the door. She approaches, and when he turns his head and gives her a smile she smiles back, grateful for the warmth of the room. “What’s that?” She gestures at the other bottle before stopping right at the fireplace.

If Seth notices anything different about her he doesn’t mention it, probably because it’s not polite to do so, takes another sip of his whiskey and holds the other bottle out for her.

It’s small, about the size of her hand, and clear. There’s a handwritten label, well hand-drawn at least. A serpent coiled up around itself like she’s seen rattlesnakes do. It’s got it’s fangs bared and there’s what looks to be a drop of venom falling from them—either that or a smudge. Inside the bottle is a thick and viscous liquid, reminding her of warm molasses. “What is it?” She hands the bottle back.

“Blood.” A good thing she handed it back then, that pronouncement would’ve made her drop it.

“Blood?” Her voice trembles, as if she can’t quite believe it. After all why would Seth just carry around a bottle of blood? What purpose did it serve?

He gives her a smile of a different sort, one not quite so friendly. “Well Katie, bringing the dead back to life’s no easy work. Though I suppose compared to most Richie’s a pleasant waltz.”

She finds her hand rising up to cross herself at his words. “That’s the devil’s work.” She’s grateful that now her voice doesn’t tremble. “Evil work.” How could he claim to be able to do such a thing? Had the two brothers made some pact with the Devil?

 _“Fairly sure neither’ve us had said we’re good men.”_ The room chills as Richie appears across from her on the other side of the fireplace. _“Won’t be the first time he’s done it. For all Seth’s griping it’s boring work.”_

Seth huffs. “That it is Richie. Trust me honey,” the use of such a petname catches her off guard. It doesn’t sound like he’s talking down to her, but part of her still stiffens. “If it were as evil as you say,” he stands, taking the two steps to bridge the gap between them—his trousers are going to get sparks and ashes on them if he stays where he is. “I’d probably be even easier. It was a bear of a thing to convince Kisa to give me that much blood. I still need more.” One of his arms comes up to rest on the mantle, she’s not _quite_ pinned, feels like she is.

With Seth between them she can’t see Richie, but she’s not sure she can forget he’s there. _“She could give some.”_ Kate doesn’t recoil at the suggestion, but it’s...unnerving to be talking about this at all. _“She_ is _my wife.”_

It should be a cold bucket of water on the whole situation, but it isn’t. Seth’s expression is inscrutable. “Have you even had some of her blood before? You keep this up and I’m gonna have to visit half the countryside to bring you back.”

 _“I have,”_ Richie’s voice is both smug and matter of fact.

At the reminder that she’d let Richie convince her to try _that_ during her monthly Kate flushes. It’s one thing to have your husband say you could sleep with his brother, another thing entirely to have him parade their bedroom romps, especially one so...she doesn’t even know if there’s a word for it.

Yet when she manages to look back up at Seth he doesn’t look disgusted or repulsed. He’s still staring down at her, intense expression on his face, eyes more black than brown. “I see,” he says it almost absently, as if he were thinking of other things. Her perhaps? Although in what way is the more important question.

“So you need my blood?” Her voice is again shaky. A long-forgotten warmth is in her belly and it’s return is not confusing so much as flustering her.

Seth leans closer, enough that she can just barely feel his breath against her skin. “Guess I do, Kisa’s, mine, and yours.”

“We’re the only people Richie’s taken blood from?” It does disturb her, but less than it rightly should. Either way it’s clear there are things about him that he had not told her; perhaps were he alive he would have.

“The only ones still alive,” Seth’s voice is low and the sound of it makes her shiver. Even as she thinks his words should horrify her. “Used to be I just had to use mine, made it nice and easy. Then he got tangled up in Kisa, and seems you too. Granted he never talked about marrying Kisa, so there’s that.”

Richie, even though she can still feel him in the room, is silent. As if content to just let them be; an almost foreign idea.

“I don’t know what your plan is Seth.” Her own voice is barely above a whisper as her heart begins to beat faster, more when he bends down as if to hear her better. “Feel as if I’ve already been committed, even without my knowledge.” She’s certain that it’s not this moment that’s committed her. Perhaps that aforementioned night with Richie? Or even earlier? Their wedding? The day she’d say yes to his suit? The first time he saw her?

This close she can see the corners of his eyes wrinkle when he smiles. “Yeah. Can make sure the first thing Richie does when he comes back is apologize.”

The jest catches her off guard and she can’t help the bright laughter that leaves her. Although it’s soon smothered by Seth’s mouth landing on her own. A soft gasp leave her at the sensation; unlike Richie Seth doesn’t shave every morning and the rough stubble scrapes at her in unexpected ways.

This she knows the way of quite well. Her arms moving to wrap around his neck and a hand threading its way into his hair, gripping as she teases her tongue against his own. A sharper sound leaves her when the action makes him all but yank her body against his own. He echoes it with a groan as she feels herself lifted up.

When they break apart she’s glad to see she’s not the only one who’s breathing heavily. “Ain’t the nicest spot right here, but if you’re in a rush…”

It gets another laugh out of her, and she finds herself giving him a much briefer second kiss. “How about you take me to the bedroom?” With them pressed just so against each other he can feel her shiver at her own words.

The smile on his face gains an achingly familiar dark curl to it. She finds herself half afraid that Seth will worm his way into her heart like his brother has and break it in the same way too. Yet if Seth can raise Richie than perhaps the reverse is true as well. “I like that idea.”

Reaching the bedroom shouldn’t take as long as it does, but Kate hardly finds it in her to care. Seth is a quick learner in the ways of her body, and is stoking the fire in her higher and higher. They shed clothes as quickly as they can, only interrupted by her admonishment that he could _not_ cut her dress open.

Kate’s certain Seth can feel the chill of Richie just as much as she can, but it seems as if neither of them much care as Seth pins her to the bed.

-

In the morning Kate awakens feeling worn and lethargic, body aching in ways it barely remembers. She blinks quickly to adjust to the light, Seth a warm lump behind her, on of his arms tossed around her waist. Keeping her in bed if she had any thoughts of leaving.

Once she can see it’s hard to miss Richie crouching beside the bed, chin resting on crossed arms. It’s a familiar pose, one he’d adopt when he was waiting for her to wake to make breakfast back when he was alive. He claimed that any food he made would be unfit for polite company, so the closest he got to ‘making’ food of any sort was assembling everything for her in the kitchen. In this situation she’s willing to admit it’s a slight unnerving.

 _“I guess I should be glad it’s only a slight.”_ Much like Seth when he smiles the corners of his eyes wrinkle. _“Good morning._ ” She feels his scaly kiss and thinks that perhaps she is not as holy a woman as she thinks she is if there’s only the barest trace of shame in her mind at what she’s done.

There’s also no urge to confess her ‘sins’, whatever those might be in the eyes of God. Her husband is dead, yet not-dead. What position does that leave her in?

“You wouldn’t happen to have gotten breakfast ready would you?” She asks it quietly. Seth asleep, but she’d rather not wake him yet if she can help it; it’s interesting to contemplate the idea that she wore him out more than he did her. She runs her fingers over his arm, enjoying the tickle of his hairs.

Richie’s smile grows fond. _“You know I can’t interact with objects Katie.”_ It’s hard to miss the wistful tone in his voice. _“You’ll have to bring me back tonight.” D_ espite his words there’s hardly any urgency in his voice. _“It’s already been longer than usual and, well,”_ one of his cheeks dimples. _“I’m getting kind of antsy.”_ Kate finds herself giving a soft huff in response, her hand thrusting into him in lieu of being able to give him a real shove.

“It won’t be easy work,” if she’s already in this, she might as well have ideas and show interest. Either way she’s right, with all the snow and the hard earth digging him up will be no easy task.

 _“Seth’s stronger than he looks,”_ Richie’s eyes flick up to stare at his brother.

Another soft huff considering Seth looks plenty strong. But with her husband as a ghost, well, she’s willing to believe a lot of impossible things it seems.

With Seth’s arm pinning her she can’t get out of bed, but she can turn around. His face looks only a bit softer in sleep, life having given him a sharp face to begin with. Her fingers once again glide up his arm, tracing the symbols of his tattoos, trying to guess what each one might mean. His golden-brown skin makes her own seem even paler, of the two he clearly seems to have taken after their Mexican mother.

In a way she’s surprised he’s still asleep, neither of them had thought to close the curtains last night, and the sun is putting up a valiant effort to shine. It doesn’t help that the snow reflects the sunlight as well, making the room even brighter.

 _“Seth’s a bit like a cat.”_ Richie’s voice sounds almost amused. _“Give him a warm sunny spot_ _and he can sleep for hours.”_

“Just because I’m asleep doesn’t mean I can’t hear you Richard.” It’s a familial sort of anger in Seth’s voice, one she has long experience with herself back when she still lived with her own family. A warm smile curls on her lips as she laughs softly.

“Good morning.” It’s an easy thing to lean over that bit more and lay a brief kiss against his chin, enjoying the way his stubble prickles at her lips.

Seth’s eyes flutter open, and crinkle in a smile in return. “Morning. Now did I hear something about breakfast?”

-

The day seems to pass infinitely slow, about once an hour she catches Seth rubbing the top of his pocket watch, as if trying to get time to move faster. She finds the wait is getting to her too, but she tries to keep herself busy: cleaning the house, mending some of her clothes, some of Richie’s clothes—if he’s coming back he’ll need them—and finally Seth’s—he only puts up a little fuss when she starts rifling through his saddlebags.

Dark cannot come soon enough for any of them.

Seth had already gone through the trouble of collecting their blood, showing her the least painful spots on the hand to cut and still get more than enough blood. The now full snake bottle sits on the mantle, waiting to do it’s possibly-foul work.

This time when dinner come around she’s the one who cooks, using up the last of her preciously hoarded flour to make a venison gravy with the leavings.

None of them speak much as they eat. The plan is already set, it’s all a matter of making sure it happens. There had been a brief argument earlier about whether or not she would be coming along, but in the end Seth had caved and agreed. She had the right to help raise her husband just as much as he did.

Seth’s watch, one so much cleverer than the one in the living room, chimes eight; and when he opens it—as if to check that the watch isn’t wrong—she sees flash of naked bodies on the inside. “Alright. Let’s go.”

They gather up what they need and head out.

The little cemetery next to the church has no walls, but with her father and Scott gone—daddy to minister in the next town over and Scott to look after him—they shouldn’t have anyone come up on them at this late an hour.

Her heart still races as she watches Seth strip off his jacket and roll up his sleeves. “How long will it take?”

“Well I’m no resurrectionist, but if I had to take a guess an hour or two. Be easier if the ground weren’t so damned hard, but I can manage.” The first shovelful of snow gets set to the side and soon he’s got a nice pile.

“Resurrectionist?” It’s a word she’s never heard before, but she would think from the parts of it that it’s exactly what Seth is.

Seth doesn’t answer right away, and Richie is nowhere to be seen again—a curiosity considering she would have thought he’d be eager to watch this all happen. Soon Seth’s stopping his shoveling to take a brief break, drinking from the canteen of water when she hands it to him. “People who dig up dead bodies and sell them to schools so the rich folk can be taught what all’s in a body. Make a pretty penny off of it that’s for sure, almost makes me think about a career change.”

A chill races down her spin at his words, it sounds so callous. What of the family? Would they know that their loved one was no longer buried but on a surgeon's table? “Isn’t that illegal?” She would hope it would be; even if she knew that wouldn’t stop many.

“Only if you take the clothes and grave goods. Bodies don’t belong to anyone once they’re dead.” He resumes shoveling, and despite his assertion of time she can see he’s made a sizeable dent in the snow.

It’s a still night, clouds hiding the moon and stars making it even darker as the sun finishes setting. Before they run out of light she lights the lantern, finding herself praying that no one decides to take an evening walk past the church. As she watches Seth Kate finds herself wishing she had the physical strength to help. She’s churned her fair share of butter and kneaded plenty of doughs but she doubts she could match Seth’s pace.

She can tell when he reaches dirt by the sound of the shovel and his brief curse.

He stops again for another break, drinking some more water and eating an old chunk of dried venison. “Now for the hard work.”

Despite what little light the lantern gives them she can see a change in him. His gait alters and when he rams the shovel into the dirt it slides in far more than it rightly should. The wind picks up, even moreso above them from the looks of the racing clouds.

With a shiver she huddles into her coat, tugging her fur lined hat more firmly about her ears. As Seth shovels dirt begins to cover his large pile of snow. “How are you planning on hiding what you did?” By the time he’s done all the snow’s going to be stained, and it’s unlikely that there’ll be more snow if the weather this night stays true.

It woudn’t be hard for someone visiting the church to guess who’s grave’d been dug up and come knocking on her door for an explanation, or possibly to arrest her, whatever Seth might say about no law caring about the bodies.

An odd chuffing sound leaves Seth, and this time he doesn’t stop digging before he answers. “Wasn’t planning to hide it. Had the thought we’d all be long gone before anyone here discovered the grave.” She finds a warmth filling her at the fact he included her in that ‘we’.

On the other hand he’d never brought this up when they’d been talking over bringing Richie back.

“I’ve never left this area my whole life.” She doesn’t say it as a protest, only a fact. She was far too young to remember a time before her family’d moved here, but she remembers the dates from the family Bible, almost eighteen years ago now.

“Not saying it’s such a bad place, but the rest of the world’s certainly got more to offer.” Something about his voice sounds lower and as the moon breaks free of the clouds the light reflects in his pupils the same demonish way she’s seen reflected in the eyes of cats and dogs.

A gasp of shock leaves her, but Seth hardly notices, more focused on his work.

Which soon bears fruit when his shovel makes a different sound. Despite her burst of fright at Seth’s eyes she rushes to the edge of the hole he’s dug. Lantern in hand she peers down to see the lid of the coffin she’d chosen for Richie.

The shovel gets tossed out of the hole with careless ease. Seth kneels, his muscles straining as he tears apart the lid.

It’s a sight both heady and grotesque.

Soon enough it’s done and there’s Richie’s face, as perfect as the day he’d been killed. She doesn’t know if it’s the weather or the fact that he’s somehow not dead that’s kept him from rotting. A strange relief for all it’s eeriness.

“You’ll have to pull the spike out.” It comes out a hurried rush, she finds she wants Richie back _now_.

Seth snorts, “don’t do anything by halves.” He sounds more amused than anything, tearing away at a bit more of the coffin to reveal the now rusting spike. He stares at it for a few seconds. “Good thing we’ve got a lot of blood." Reaching in his body strains again and the spike follows the same careless arc as the shovel had. Part of her wants to keep it, a gruesome reminder of this strange time in her life. She holds off, as if she’ll ever forget these past few months. “Hand me the bottle.”

With a start she gives herself a brief shake before reaching into her coat pocket for the bottle. Even the warmth from her body hasn’t been enough to keep it truly liquid, so it once again moves like molasses when Seth jerks out the cork and begins pouring the blood onto Richie’s wounds—both from the spike and the bullets.

Part of her wants to look away when he forces Richie’s mouth open to pour in the rest, his hand soon moving down to massage Richie’s throat to help him swallow.

“Richie, come on brother.”

Kate has never found waiting to be a more agonizing prospect than now. Her fingers tighten around the lantern’s handle. “Richie please,” she finds herself murmuring in the quiet. A prayer. To whom she hardly knows.

The clouds return, the creeping darkness surrounding them, as if eager for her lantern to extinguish so it can consume them. In the silence of that darkness a soft groan reaches her ears, followed by a hacking sort of cough.

Her eyes widen in shock—yes she had hoped it would work, yet a part of her had doubted—as Richie shoots upright, lungs heaving and eyes blinking rapidly as, she guesses, he gets used to being alive again. A hiss leaves him, one she knows from memory is of annoyance and pain. With one last cough he spits something out.

“Gods, took you long enough.” She has grown so used to hearing Richie in death that his real voice makes her feels as if someone’s reached into her chest and grasped her beating heart.

She manages to take a trembling step back before her legs give out and she falls to her knees. “Richie,” it comes out a sobbing gasp.

Before she can even blink back her tears he’s at her side, gathering her up into a hug and nearly squeezing all the air out of her. She finds she doesn’t give a damn. “Katie, oh Gods.” He smells of the grave, all must and dirt. She doesn’t give a damn about that either, clinging just as tightly to him.

Seth gives a soft groan of relief, but he doesn’t try to interrupt their reunion. It’s without thought that she tilts her head and arches up to kiss him. Tongues tangling in their old familiar dance. One of his hands slips under her hat into her hair, giving him better control, she lets him.

When they break apart her tears return and he lets her bury her face in his torn and bloody shirt, making soothing noises as his hand begins to rub at the back of her head. “So long as we both shall live Katie, that’s what I promised.” He lays a brief kiss on her forehead. “Life just works a bit differently for me.”

Broken laughter escapes through her tears. “Richie.” She’s not sure she can say much else at the moment, her mind overwhelmed by all that’s happened.

“Hate to put an end to the romance, but we’re burning moonlight if we want to be heading out.” When she does manage to pull away from Richie she sees Seth standing a foot or so away, shovel slung over his shoulder.

Richie helps her stand. “Think you can walk?”

Another brief laugh leaves her, “not sure.” She’s certain that if she tries she’ll manage, yet she thinks she’d like to be carried by Richie more, loathed to leave him now that she has him back. “Carry me?”

He gives a huff, as if he can still read her mind and knows what’s up. Still he dutifully scoops her up, holding her to his chest as they begin to make their way back. “Dare I ask what took you so long Seth?” Richie keeps his voice low as if to keep from attracting attention.

“Says the man who went and got himself killed, again.” There’s little heat.

“Tanner was making sacrifices to Xibalba, I was just supposed to let him?” Kate gives a start of surprise at that revelation. It hadn’t been what Richie’d told her when she’d asked him—for all that the town was glad to be rid of him they’d at least let her visit him in his cell.

“Damn it Richard. We swore not to get involved in that. We’re thieves not soldiers.” It has the ring of a line repeated often.

Looking up at Richie she could just see him narrowing his eyes at Seth. “If you keep denying it one day something’s going to force your hand.” Kate has the feeling this argument is one they’ve had often.

“What are you two?” They’re clearly inhuman, although she feels that’s a pretty broad category. If you had asked her she would have thought anything inhuman would have looked it, but if she had passed either of them on the street she wouldn’t have known. In a way it makes sense, if they didn’t look human then she’s sure they would have been killed long ago.

Richie looks down at her, lips curling in a smile. “Told you Katie, we’re monsters.” For a moment his eyes flicker, as inhuman as she could ever have wanted.

It _is_ frightening, but Richie does it in such his way that she also can’t help but give an exaggerated sort of sigh. In front of them Seth laughs. “Who knew you’d make a good choice in the marriage department.”

Even if he can’t see it Kate beams at him.

Seth’s comment also quiets Richie and the rest of their short walks she spends thinking about leaving, and how she feels about it.

Once they reach the house Richie sets her back down and the brothers burst into action, packing quickly—she imagines this is not the first time they’ve done this sort of thing. She finds herself caught up in the rush as well, her own clothes getting put into bags, as well as what few momentos and things she cannot do without. In a way it’s heady, to be leaving in such a rush.

As the packing begins to wind down the argument begins again. “I meant it Seth, ignoring it’s not going to make it go away.”

“It’s worked well for me so far, Not like you gave me much of a choice Richard, so I’m certain it’s my right to not take part.” Seth bites it out, wishing Richie would just stop.

Kate might not have much of an idea of _what_ they’re talking about, but she can still understand the basics of it. However… “I thought we were leaving, not arguing like grannies.”

Both men stop and look at her, as if having forgotten she was there. “Kate’s right.” The look Richie gives her makes her shudder. “Even if I’d like to stay a little longer.”

Seth’s sigh is exaggerated. “I think you’re a little biased on that front Richie, to be fair I understand.”

Now _both_ of them are giving her looks, it’s...headier than she’d thought it would be. The fact that they both want her filling her more than she thought it would. She can’t let it, at least not at the moment. “Leaving,” she says in a rush. “How are we all going to fit on Seth’s horse?” There’s the wagon somewhere in the snow, although they’d have to dig it out, and it’s probably started to rust with all the water.

“We aren’t.” Seth flashes her a smile before turning and heading out the door.

With their marriage having been only a month or so before winter Richie didn’t have much of a chance to build anything but the house, so there was only the beginnings of a barn. He’d meant to finish it come spring, but then spring never happened. It’s towards there that Seth leads them, and as they get closer she hears the whinny of horses.

When they come around the rotting wooden wall she stumbles back at the sight of two healthy looking horses—both saddled even. How Seth’s managed to keep them without her knowing is impressive.

Richie looks pleased, going up to the one on the left and rubbing it’s speckled nose. The sight brings a smile to her face and she hands Seth her saddlebags, slowly coming up next to Richie. “He’s very handsome.”

It earns her a beaming smile. “He’s got an excellent gait too, hardly feels like riding. Help you up?”

She gives a little nod and with easy strength he lifts her up. A moment later he’s unhitched the horse and has leaped up onto it behind her. With her skirts it’s awkward sitting side saddle in a regular saddle, but with Richie’s arms around her she’s confident she won’t fall off.

“You know,” Richie begins almost conversationally as he guides his horse after Seth’s. “I’ve heard tell that if done right sex on a horse is very enjoyable.”

It’s been so long that his frankness brings a flush to her cheeks and she buries her face in his chest.

“I sure as hell ain’t leading your horse so you can have sex Richie, you’re just going to have to wait for a bed like everyone else.” Kate has a feeling she’s going to see a lot of Seth’s exasperation in the coming days.

The ‘everyone else’ also catches her off guard. Making her realize that now that Richie’s alive again she’s lost as to what will happen. Richie had said the two of them had shared lovers before, but would that be different since she was Richie’s wife? Or did that sort of thing not matter in situations such as this—if there had ever been situations like this before.

For now she’ll set that aside. They’ve plenty of time before they stop most likely, and such things could be talked about then. One question couldn’t wait. “Where are we going?” So far they’ve been heading north, but she finds she wants to know exactly.

“East,” Seth says at the same time Richie says. “South and west.”

Seth sighs. “We’re not going back to Mexico. We’re gonna go some place big, Boston or New York. Show ‘em off to Katie, do a job or two. Like old times.” An intriguing plan, although she worries the bustle of such big cities will be overwhelming to her.

“Not even for El Rey?” Richie challenges, when she pulls her face away from his chest she sees his eyes are staring at Seth.

Who gives a sharp curse and pulls his horse to a stop, allowing them to catch up.

Seth’s expression is torn between anger and surprise, underneath it all is turmoil. “You know full well El Rey’s just some place Carlitos made up to draw us in Richie. I’m sure as hell not falling for it again.” Pain flashes across Seth’s face before he buries it deep. Before she can stop herself Kate reaches out and rests her hand on top of his jacket.

His eyes cut to her and he manages a strained smile, she gives a more comforting one back. Perhaps one day she’ll manage to get the whole story of what happened out of them, but now’s not the time.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Richie shake his head. “Oh it’s true, Carlos just lied about being able to get us there. We can still go, live like the kings we’re supposed to be. Give Kate a life she can’t imagine; better than one on the run at least.”

“Richie…” She drifts off, unsure of what to say. Richie’s love for her has never been in doubt, but she feels this idea also stems from keeping her safe to prove himself. She can’t exactly fault him for it.

Seth turns his head to look at her. “Since there’s three of us we could just let her decide.”

Such an obvious solution. Yet now she feels both their gazes turn expectant, more responsibility than she’d prefer at the moment. “I…” She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes so at least she doesn’t have to see either of them watching her. “I want to see a city, I don’t care where. But...I’ve never been anywhere but Bethel, I want to _know_.” It might be a greed of sorts, but she’s unashamed of it now.

“Guess I’m outvoted then.” Not that Richie sounds too put out about it at least. “New Orleans is close, we could go there.”

As they turn east it becomes a spirited discussion, and Kate doesn’t think she’s ever been this happy in her life.

**Author's Note:**

> Seth's pocket watch is totally based [on real pocket watches BTW](http://www.blouinartinfo.com/news/story/1250787/art-on-the-wrist-sensual-timing) (link is definitely SFW)


End file.
